Words
by cheride
Summary: It's time for a little conversation on the beach.


_**Words**- cheride_

_Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction for entertainment purposes only. The characters and concepts of Hardcastle & McCormick do not belong to me, but to their creators._

_Rating: K

* * *

_

**Author's Notes:** So here's my attempt at my own story starter from the **forum**. As LML has already discovered, 1000 words just isn't enough to say much of anything, so I think we won't try listing a length criteria going forward. And, while we're on the subject, if you have starters you'd like to throw out for consideration, or bunnies to discuss, or just about any other thing relating to H&M fanfic, well, please do drop in to the forum sometime.

Okay, as for the story, it's a short follow-up to the aired episode, _If You Could See What I See_, where the guys' new psychic housekeeper predicted Mark's death.

As always, a nod of thanks to L.M. Lewis, who kindly uses some of her insomniac energy to beta for me.

* * *

They had nothing to say to each other. That had rarely happened between them, not even in their earliest days together, and never for more than a few hours at a time, even at their angriest. But now it was late in the second day of discomfort—almost forty-eight hours of a patent inability to make conversation.

Really, it had been that way since McCormick had come home from the hospital over a week ago, but it was becoming more apparent now that they were alone. When Millie had been there, they could talk to her; let her run interference. And besides, it was always easier to hide behind the typical banter when others were around. But now that she was gone, well, there was an awful lot of silence.

For his part, McCormick thought he was being considerate, though it was wearing on his last nerve. Hardcastle wasn't coping well with his sidekick's brush with death, and Mark knew the judge was feeling exposed. He knew he'd heard the older man talking to him when he was barely conscious, saying the words that had helped him hang on. But those were the very words that Hardcastle now seemed to wish he could forget; the words he didn't even admit to _himself_, much less someone else.

And though he wanted to be able to ease his friend's awkwardness, McCormick couldn't seem to find a way to tell him that that he'd known all along. That it was that very knowledge which had kept him alive through that long, long night.

As for Hardcastle, he had convinced himself that there was nothing to say. He had done what was necessary to keep the kid alive, nothing more. There was no need to dwell on it now, to think about how scared he had been when he'd seen that blood on the pool house floor. There was no reason to remember how he had been almost paralyzed with fear as he searched frantically through the night, stubbornly insisting to Millie that she was wrong—_had_ to be wrong, though it seemed she had been right about too many things in the short time she'd been with them.

And, most of all, he certainly didn't need to relive the way that the icy fear had become a red-hot dagger in his soul when he had seen the body lying in that ravine. No, there was no need to go into that. He'd already said what needed saying, and that was enough.

And so it was, as they sat, minds swirling with thoughts longing to be heard, that they had nothing to say to each other.

**00000**

Hardcastle cleared his throat. At least a full minute passed before he spoke. "What did you want for dinner tonight?"

McCormick tried not to sigh too loudly, but when was Milton Hardcastle ever hesitant about anything? It was almost more than he could bear, the way the judge seemed afraid to talk to him.

"I don't really feel much like eating." _Or anything else,_ but he kept that part to himself.

"Not eating wasn't one of the options," Hardcastle growled, "you're still healing." And the response was so typical, McCormick grinned.

"In that case," the young man answered, "I'm not all that picky. And I can help, if it's something that gets easier with three hands instead of two." He gestured at his arm in the sling.

Hardcastle looked at him for a long moment, his expression one of careful contemplation, almost as if he was examining a stranger. What he finally said was, "I can get it; Millie made up a bunch of meals. How about I bake the lasagna?"

Mark just nodded and fought back another sigh. "That's fine, Judge."

"I'll let you know when it's ready." And Hardcastle ducked out of the den, still leaving so much unsaid.

**00000**

Dinner had been strained, the nightly movie had been watched in a wholly unnatural silence, and McCormick had had enough. Knowing that the brightly illuminated den didn't provide nearly enough safety for this conversation, he made a calculated opening gambit.

"I think I'll take a walk down the beach." He used his good arm to push himself out of the chair.

"The beach? It's getting late. You're still supposed to be gettin' your rest, ya know."

Mark waved off the objection. "It's barely eleven, Judge, I'm not gonna turn into a pumpkin, or anything."

"Well, it's dark. You can't see to get down the incline."

"It's a full moon. And I'll stick a flashlight in my jacket, okay?"

When the young man didn't stop his movement toward the door, Hardcastle twisted in the chair to continue his warnings. "Yeah, and what're you gonna do when you lose your balance because your arm's all trussed up like some kinda holiday turkey or somethin'? You'll break your fool head open."

McCormick paused on the landing. "Come with me, then, if you're so worried."

Hardcastle's withdrawal was almost visible. He sat, staring across the room, and his expression seemed to imply that his friend had suggested nothing more unreasonable than hopping the nearest rocket ship to the moon.

After a few seconds of silence, Mark shrugged and continued out of the house.

But by the time he successfully maneuvered into a jacket—including a small flashlight in the pocket as promised—and emerged from the gatehouse a few minutes later, Hardcastle was waiting at the top of the path. McCormick smiled.

"Hey." He fished out the flashlight. "You want this?"

The judge looked around, taking in the moon and the stars in the cloudless sky. "I guess it is pretty bright," he admitted as they started down toward the sand.

McCormick grinned and stuck the thing back in his pocket. "Well, thanks for comin' out anyway."

Hardcastle shrugged dismissively. "Just bein' logical. If you fall and put your other arm in a sling, I'll be paying the lawn service for months."

Mark laughed, but he really was more cautious than normal as he trudged along the uneven surface. And he noticed that Hardcastle really did walk a little closer than normal, too, perfectly poised to offer a steadying hand if necessary.

**00000**

The trek down the hill was made mostly in silence, though Hardcastle reflected that it was a milder silence than they'd shared lately. Being outside, feeling the cool night breeze and hearing the waves pounding in the darkness, was somehow calming. He thought McCormick had probably planned it that way.

They didn't go far once they reached the beach; Hardcastle figured the kid was probably more tired than he was willing to let on. McCormick walked just to the edge of the surf then stopped, staring toward the sea, still not speaking. Even in the moonlight, the ocean was nothing more than a huge pool of shimmering darkness, and the judge wondered just what it was his young friend was seeing. He fought back the shudder as he found himself hoping it didn't have anything to do with pool houses or dark ravines.

And then McCormick moved back several feet, folded his legs underneath him, and got comfortable in the sand.

_He's ready to have this out,_ Hardcastle thought, though he wasn't sure exactly what 'this' was. But he couldn't very well just go off and leave the kid alone in the dark, so he pulled in a silent breath and began to lower himself to the ground. He landed with a sudden _thud_ when McCormick's first words came much quicker than he anticipated, and shocked the hell out of him.

"Why're you mad at me, Judge?"

"_What?_"

McCormick didn't turn, but kept his face toward the water, eyes tracking the waves. He shrugged. "Maybe not mad, but whatever it is that you are. You can't hardly look at me, much less talk to me." He paused, then added, "I didn't mean to get hurt, you know."

"I know that," Hardcastle answered huffily, exasperated at the very idea. Then he gave it some thought. "If I'm mad at anybody, it's myself. You shouldn't've ever found yourself in that position."

"Sometimes the cases are dangerous, Judge. We both know it. It's not like you twisted my arm."

The jurist hiked up an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Well . . ." McCormick smiled slightly. "No more than usual."

Hardcastle chuckled, then sobered immediately. "I should've listened to Millie."

"No one could be expected to believe that stuff, Hardcase."

"_You_ believed it." He left unspoken the part that said, _But you went with me anyway_, though that was the part that stopped him cold every time.

Not just that the kid had walked into danger. He was right about that; danger went with the territory. But this had been different. It was one thing to walk into a situation knowing if you weren't careful you might get hurt. But McCormick had walked into this situation fully _believing_ that he would die.

_For me. He did that for me._

And how was a person supposed to live with that kind of responsibility? Come to think of it, maybe he _was_ mad.

And then, as if he was reading his thoughts—which Hardcastle sometimes thought wasn't too far from the truth—McCormick was speaking into the silent darkness. It sounded like he might be just a little bit angry, too.

"Well, I don't know what you wanted me to do, Judge. I mean, you just go barging into these things like nothing could possibly happen to the great and honorable Milton C. Hardcastle, and that's just _crap_. You're not invincible, ya know, and you oughta start acting like you understand that. You want to go around acting like the Lone Ranger, fine. Then you live with the fact that Tonto is never far behind. And if maybe that slows you down for just a second, even once, to think things through, then maybe that'll be enough."

"And if it doesn't?" Hardcastle snapped back, unwilling to be held hostage by his own worst fears.

And still McCormick didn't turn to look at the older man, but he spoke with an intense assurance that couldn't be questioned.

"Then I'll still be there."

**00000**

Hardcastle felt his heart pounding in his chest. McCormick had thrown it down firmly, his own personal gauntlet, putting into words something that Hardcastle had recognized long ago, even if he never wanted to admit it. He _was_ responsible, because this crazy kid would follow him into anything.

But that line of thinking took him right back to the other thing that he'd recognized long ago, but never wanted to admit, and then the kid's attitude made perfect sense. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the memory, but it was useless.

_Hang on, McCormick. I'm here. _

He'd repeated those words countless times sitting beside the young man at Kelly's Curve, holding his hand, wanting to cradle him in his arms, but afraid to move him for fear of making things worse.

And in the ambulance—which they hadn't been able to keep him out of—he'd continued the mantra, never wanting the kid to believe he was alone. But then, when they were still at least ten minutes from the hospital, he'd thought he was losing him. Something in the paramedics' demeanor had changed, and even through his haze of fear, Hardcastle had understood the idea of falling blood pressure and possible shock. And so, without conscious thought, he had rasped out the words he'd never intended to say.

_Don't leave me, kiddo. You have to stay with me. I can't lose another son._

And, unbelievably, the limp hand in his had tightened just slightly, and after a few seconds, one of the paramedics had given him a stern directive, 'Keep talking'.

And he had.

He supposed maybe that was his own gauntlet, of sorts. When all else fails, just be willing to confess how lost he would be alone; simply forbid the kid to leave. But what was he supposed to do now, now that it was all out in the open? And how were they supposed to reconcile their positions, anyway? One man who would willingly walk into hell, and the other who would never survive the sacrifice.

And then, with that uncanny mind-reading thing again, McCormick finally turned to face his friend, and spoke softly.

"But the thing is, Judge, I don't think I'm willing to do anything for you that you wouldn't do for me. We're partners, right? Just like you know Tonto will always follow you, I know that the Masked Man will always come after me. That's the deal.

"You think that you almost got me killed, Judge, but the truth is that you saved my life. I knew you'd come; I knew it. And you did."

"You knew it, huh?" Hardcastle said gruffly.

"Yep."

"So whatta ya think that means?"

McCormick smiled. "I think it means you're stuck with me, Hardcase."

The judge smiled in return, though his was slightly more thoughtful. "I think I can handle that. But what about you?"

"I've been puttin' up with you this long; I can manage."

"Even if I don't always slow down and think things through?" Hardcastle braced himself, but the answer was immediate.

"Absolutely."

And in the moonlight, blue eyes glowed with an unbreakable vow, a loyalty so complete that Hardcastle knew the words he'd uttered in that ambulance had not only been heard, but cherished. And he wondered if McCormick could see that same promise glowing in his eyes.

_One man who would willingly walk into hell,_ he thought. He smiled again. _Better make that two._

**00000**

They stayed on the beach, silently staring at the water for almost half an hour, and McCormick felt a peace come over him that had been missing for several days. And Hardcastle felt it too, he was sure of it. There was no hesitation at all in the older man's voice when he finally said, "It's gotta be after midnight, kiddo; you oughta think about getting some sleep."

Mark smiled. "I could sleep right here," he said honestly.

The judge laughed. "No way. You'd sleep right through high tide and I'd have to come fish you out of the drink." He stood up, then reached down a hand. "C'mon, let's go back."

McCormick accepted the hand up, then started back toward the path to the house, Hardcastle following closely behind.

They made the trek in silence again, but with no trace of the tension that had existed on the trip down; they had allowed themselves to say the things that needed saying.

And as they walked, enjoying the companionship they'd come to rely upon, McCormick smiled as he thought that there was a comfort in knowing that words weren't always necessary, but holding a few of them close to his heart just the same.


End file.
